


Writing Away

by KoroRii



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alternative Universe - 20th Century, Angst, Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, Okumura Eiji Needs a Hug, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Playwright!Eiji, Post-War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2019-10-05 09:54:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17322794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KoroRii/pseuds/KoroRii
Summary: “Forgive me… I loved you.”Eiji closes his fingers around nothing, his sobs ringing unpleasantly in his ears and his heart pounding painfully in his chest—a constant reminder that this is real.*Written forBanana Fish Angst Week 2019





	1. Death

“Must you go?” Eiji asks, his voice a harsh slice in the thick atmosphere filling the dimly lit room. His fingers, stained with the black ink he is so fond of, strangle the fabric of Ash’s uniform. His eyes stare into Ash’s, and he realizes that he might never see the bright green crystals screaming strength and life ever again after this night. He needs more time to memorize them, to capture them in a way that cannot be done in writing, in drawing, or in any form of art. He needs a lifetime to carve them into his mind, needs an eternity to sketch them into his heart. He cannot leave now! “We can run away! No one will know… Let’s escape! We can hide again if we move back to—”

“Eiji,” Ash’s voice was as soft and still as the candle on Eiji’s writing desk. Like the silent flame, Ash is strong and insistent, standing tall and undisturbed. His hands are a comforting presence on Eiji’s shoulders, sturdy and grounding. Ash has always protected him, ever since they were wistful teens. He has always been by his side, always bickering, always caring, always _there_ . Eiji needs to be _there_ for him too, to save him from his old demons, to embrace him when he gets too cold and too frightened. Don’t they need each other?

“Ash,” he responds dumbly, his head clouded and empty of anything and everything except _Ash_. He hopes that at least his desperate tone portrays how much he urgently and despairingly wishes for Ash to reconsider his decisions. Why must he hold a weapon again?  

“Do you remember my older brother?” Ash asks then, and Eiji nods, the motion slow and confused. Why bring his late sibling now, of all times? Puzzled, Eiji watches as Ash moves his hands to grasp Eiji’s and lowers them to the space in between them (which wasn’t large to begin with). Eyes a solemn jade are trained on their connection, yet Eiji finds that he can’t look anywhere else but Ash’s face, studying him with concern.

“I decided to never forgive him when he left my father and I,” he admitted, and it’s the first Eiji’s heard of it. Ash has only ever spoke of his brother in an overwhelmingly positive light. “I loved him so much, yet I couldn’t believe he would dare leave us behind for a war we couldn’t win.”

Eiji opens his mouth to speak, but closes it when Ash suddenly lifts his gaze. Jaw set, eyes brighter, he tells Eiji, “But I understand now. I've understood it, but I did not want to believe it. He didn’t leave us to abandon us, he did it to protect us. He fought for us, and died doing so. He died a hero, my hero.”

Eiji blinks, eyebrows scrunched together. “I don’t—Ash, what are you trying to say?” Ash captures his gasp in a light, quick kiss. Eiji chases his lips and urges them into a dance dedicated and reserved for only them—a sequence and a sway that only they could accomplish after a year or so of practice. Eiji trembles after a minute passes, and Ash’s strong arms envelop him into a tight, suffocating embrace. Eiji cannot breathe, but the feeling is so welcome and so needed that he cannot bring himself to care.

Ash pulls away first, and Eiji sees tears in the corner of his eyes. A calloused hand caresses his cheeks, and Eiji isn’t surprised by the fact that he isn’t faring any better emotionally. Ash always collects his tears as if they were precious shells on a sparkling shore, each one beautiful and unique and a treasure to be cherished. Each one holding some sort of secret to be kept, a story to be shared. That is how Eiji sees Ash’s tears, after all… and he’s seen them many, many times.

Ash always does this… make him feel special, needed, wanted. Eiji wants Ash to know that he is all those things as well, and so much more. Is Eiji even doing a good job at expressing that? “Ash, I—”

“I’m going to protect you,” Ash promises Eiji, and as shocked as he was at the sudden claim, Eiji can detect no lie in his words, in his voice, in his expression, and it frightens him. “You’ll be safe here, because I will fight to protect you, to protect your dream.”

“Ash, what—” Eiji starts, but is not given the chance to finish. Ash grasps his face in his palms, and Eiji is so overwhelmed by the sensation and the heat and the _Ash is leaving me, why are you leaving, please don’t go_ that he cannot form any more words. Ash fills the silence with his own pleas.

“Eiji, wait for me. I will return to you, I promise.” The contact is forceful, the words are heavy, but Eiji takes the burden and holds it close to himself. It makes it seem more genuine, more tangible. His hands seek Ash’s shoulders, and he takes a moment in order to present his own daring promise as well.

“I promise that I’ll wait for your return,” Eiji says, allowing himself a tentative, pensive smile. “Promise me that you _will_ return, Ash. Promise me that you will write to me when you can. Let me know how you’re doing, tell me what’s going on. Let me know how Shorter, Sing, and the rest are faring. Promise me, Ash. Promise that you will come back to me, safe and sound.” He’s rambling at this point, and his accent is more prominent when he does, so Ash might not have caught his message, but the meaning is still there. The intent is still there.

Ash doesn’t reply immediately, and Eiji doesn’t expect him to. However, he becomes increasingly concerned when seconds pass and Ash’s expression turns grim, his mouth a thin, unsure line. Eiji’s frown deepens—can he not keep his end of the promise? _No, he must, please Ash_ —

“I promise,” Ash says, the hands on Eiji’s face hardening, shaking. “I promise you, Eiji. Have faith in me.”

Eiji’s smile widens, lifting his hands now to place over Ash’s, and instantly, they relax. He can breathe again. “I’ve always had faith in you, Ash. I trust you.” _I love you_ , but there was never a time, now or then, that felt appropriate to say it.

Ash’s entire frame hunches, and his expression and body tell Eiji that he is relieved. For a single moment, Eiji feels peaceful, despite the knowledge of what’s to come, of where Ash is going, of the dangers he is going to face. All that registers in his head right now is how close Ash is, how real he is, how beautiful he is, how talented he is, how amazing he is…

 _How much I love him_.

 

 

 

Many months pass, most moving on silently and slowly with the infrequent letter from Ash. Eiji always replies quickly, always so relieved to receive word from him, reassuring him that Ash has been thinking of him, has been taking the time to let Eiji know how he is doing in short, straightforward prose that still somehow contain so much feeling as that of a meticulously crafted poem. He keeps all of Ash’s letters in a secure cabinet in his quarters, where no one, not even Ibe or Nadia, can access without Eiji knowing about it. There, the letters are protected, safe, and _his_. Ash is still connected to him, still keeping his side of the promise, so Eiji will keep his as well. 

One letter arrives after nearly three and a half years, and written crudely but prettily in a way that only Ash can procure, it reads, “Expect us during the spring of the new year. We will secure a victory then. I will return to you.” Succinct, but overflowing with Ash’s emotions, of his promise. It’s all Eiji could ask and hope for. It keeps him optimistic, motivated,  _alive_. 

 

 

 

Spring arrives, and the first to contact Eiji is Sing. Eiji meets him at the entrance of the theater when he had received his summons, smiling cheerfully the entire journey there. He had rushed immediately from where he stood behind the stage upon hearing the news, so thrilled to talk to Sing, to embrace Shorter, to let Ash know about his debut play, the new watch he had bought for Ash, _how much I love you and you must finally know_. “Sing! Oh, I’m so glad to see you have returned—”

Sing’s entire body flinches at Eiji’s touch, silencing the older like a slap to his face. Eiji startles, becoming fidgety, then tiptoes to peer behind the budding adult as if he was looking for someone. He is. “Wh-where’s Ash? Were you not in the same unit? He wrote that you all should be coming back at around this time… I assumed you would all arrive together, with Shorter and Alex…” His voice unknowingly lowers into a fading whisper.

Sing says nothing, instead handing Eiji a wrinkled, torn piece of paper. Eiji takes it, his heart a booming rhythm. Upon unfolding it, he sees the patches of blood, the smeared ink, the sloppy writing that is solid in some areas and nearly illegible in others. The message is difficult to understand, overlapping letters and messy symbols, but the meaning is still there. The intent is still there.

The air around Eiji turns icy, filled with smoke, difficult to inhale and exhale.

It’s an apology. It’s a farewell. It’s everything Eiji dreaded and more, yet he read every single word, sinking deeper and deeper into a dark, endless winter.

There is no hope for spring, no hope for Ash’s return. No hope for _them_.

An agonizing chill buries him in the snow, clouding his vision and making him tremble deep from his bones outward. He feels so, so cold.

His last words. “Forgive me, I loved you.”

_Forgive me… I loved you._

Ash’s voice whispers in his ear, and Eiji swears he can see him smiling, sees his blonde hair flowing, sees his eyelids slipping, sees his hands stop moving as they struggle to write coherent sentences from incoherent thoughts, sees his breathing stop, sees his heart stop, sees him—

“I’m sorry, he couldn’t make it. Neither could the rest of them. For months, for _years_ , the battle was against our favor, one-sided. Our victory was thanks to Ash’s final set of strategies…” He hears Sing say, but it sounds like the scrape of a table, the grating of a silver fork, the scratch of a quill’s pointed tip—painful, meaningless, consuming. It makes him tremble terribly, and his legs crumple uselessly underneath him. “However, his plan came with many sacrifices.”

Eiji closes his fingers around the letter, crumpling the delicate material further, his sobs ringing unpleasantly in his ears and his heart pounding painfully in his chest—a constant reminder that this is real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unedited!! i am sleepy,,  
> ahhh and i can't believe that my first contribution to the fandom is an angst series,,;;;  
> hope you stick around w/ me!! i really do want to improve my writing and i hope this will help. please share any comments you have! <3 let's cry this whole week together TT TT


	2. Sorrow

A few seasons have passed since the region’s victory. The country rejoiced for many days, days that are filled with peaceful happiness for those that have survived the ordeal. Families welcome back their courageous soldiers, children embrace their wounded fathers, and wives kiss their traumatized lovers. The government has long since settled their plans on how to distribute winning lands amongst them and their allies. Treaties signed, alliances created, there can only be days of freedom, of tranquility, of harmony. Every visible soul sings with a high note that scatters carelessly into the wind that only carries it higher.

The only melody Eiji sings is a lonely, dismal strum of a broken harp. So broken that he cannot rely on it to support him. Not that he can blame it, he is far too broken to have the harp lean back on him.

So broken that he can’t even stand, or function.

This is the—fourth? Fifth? Thirtieth?—time he wakes up to Sing by his bedside. He doesn’t need to open his eyes to know that Sing is frowning at him, so he leaves them close. Seconds turn into minutes, and time is a slow, uniform march towards a cliff’s edge. Will lying here quicken his speed?

“Eiji,” Sing calls, unmoving from the stool he occupies. They both know that no amount of contact can comfort his sadness, cure his depression. He doesn’t expect Sing’s hand to be able to push him out of bed. Sing wisely keeps to himself, though a pained expression falls on his face that reflects on his tone. “You collapsed while directing again. I took you home so that you could rest for the remainder of the day.”

“Ah,” Eiji replies, his voice some old song that’s been played too many times that it merely resembles a repetitive ticking clock—the sound an indication that it still works, that it is still alive. Will screaming until he’s hoarse cease the tick, tick, tick? “The actors must be regretting their decision to follow my direction… I must apologize to them and their playwright.”

Eiji hears the shuffling of Sing’s clothes. “They are worried for you,” Sing corrects. “This has been the third time this week. No work will be done if you keep falling over like you did today. Nadia tells me you haven’t eaten a single meal in days. You need to take better care of yourself.”

“I—” Eiji stops himself, utterly lost. Must Sing push him to talk so much? Must he remind Eiji of all his flaws, of all the things he’s doing wrong? _There is already so much I regret_. “I’ve been trying to finish the script, Sing… I cannot go further than the first page.”

A sigh fills the room. “Eiji, that isn’t an excuse to neglect eating and sleeping,” Sing says, and Eiji hears more shuffling with the additional scrape of the stool leg. “It’s almost been a year, Eiji. Your first play was amazing, a marvel. The theater wants to see more, the audiences do, too. As well as all of us. We are your biggest fans, Eiji, your most loyal supporters. We’re here to help you. Let us in.”

Eiji believes that, _I truly do_ , but the notion does not fill him with bubbling glee like it used to. Turning on his side and facing away from Sing, he lets out a brief, “Mhm. I’m trying my best.”

It’s a terrible lie. Sing must have decided that he has tormented Eiji enough, because he begins to leave the room with quiet, consistent footsteps. He closes the creaking door slowly, stops for a moment to peer once more at Eiji—Eiji can tell, he knows Sing—then shuts it with a soft thud.

Finally alone with his thoughts, Eiji tries once again to collect himself.

Impossible, all he can think about is golden strings and an angelic voice, a songbird that sings freely from his heart.

_Shot to death, and now you chirp no more. You cannot fly any more._

_In some ways,_ Eiji finally opens his eyes. His open palm is a blurry image, but still strikingly clear against dirty sheets. He makes a tight fist, holding it close to his face. His other hand follows close behind, surrounding it. He curls in on himself, uncaring for the wrinkles on his clothes or the bedcloth. Uncaring for the way long, chipped nails dig deeply into pallid skin. Uncaring of the new wounds forming on his bottom lip.

_In some ways, I am as trapped as you are._

 

 

 

“Eiji…” A dream, but unattainable, far away. The distance is unpleasant.

“Eiji…!” A nightmare, for only one man could say his name with such fervor, such devotion, such _love_. A nightmare, for it was not true, he couldn’t be alive. The distance is decreasing, yet Eiji’s feet only move backward.

“Eiji!” Eiji’s eyes open, and _what could have been_ vanishes before his eyes as he regains consciousness. He unknowingly chases the lie, feeling bitter with himself the more alert he becomes. He wakes in a dark room he recognizes as his private quarters in the theater, his body slumped over his desk and his head over creased papers. Some small, young part of him panics, since _oh gosh what if I had drooled over all my ideas and ruined the writing so much that I cannot recall them_ _?_ But Eiji never listens to that naive child anymore, instead focusing on the fact that all the papers that were lying underneath him contain the most whimsical, doltish writing he has ever seen in his life.

 _All by my hand_ _,_ Eiji frowns. _All these failed attempts can never be made into a script worthy for the public._

“Eiji, are you okay?” It’s Sing. Of course it’s Sing. Eiji looks up at him, and the boy’s eyes are still wide with worry, with fright, with disappointment, _why do you always have to look at me in such a way?_ “You’ve been here since noon… it’s nearing midnight, the theater should be locking up soon.”

“Sorry, I…” _Excuses, excuses_ . “I lost track of time.” He pushes the papers into a messy pile towards the corner of his table, hefting his body upward. He attempts to stand, but after a mere second of relying on his legs, his entire body wobbles, the string of the harp vibrating after it’s been pulled just a little. Sing’s arms are around him, supporting him, and all Eiji can think is _Pathetic, pathetic, I do not deserve your help._

“Eiji,” Sing starts, but does not finish. He does not need to. The obvious answer is no, no matter what he asked regarding Eiji’s health. Eiji confirms that thought with a stumbling breath. “You need more than one candle if you plan to write with the curtains drawn.”

Eiji aims his eyes towards the mentioned object. It is short, melting, dying. Its light is a withering flower, bent and devoid of color. It barely illuminates the desk Eiji had always used for his scriptwriting. Sing bends slightly to blow the flame out. It dissolves quickly, to the snap of a finger, and hot smoke wafts between the two like an ugly perfume.

Momentarily dizzied by the reeking air, Eiji forces his weary eyes to blink in order to clear his head and vision. Though, what he saw was just as confusing and breathtaking. The smoke disburses and from the cloud there he appears, smiling as if no promises have been broken. Eiji sees him wave to him. Sees him singing some lullaby his brother taught him, sees him move his feet to the step of an invisible rhythm, sees his fingers play with strings the way he knew how, sees him—

“Eiji, your eyesight will get worse. Please, I worry for you.” Sing fusses, yet Eiji can only focus on the song that fills his ears, on how he yearns to remember the voice, on how he wishes for an encore of the performance.

_At least one more time._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahahahahahha;;;;; why did i decide to do this aljsdhajsd  
> hope you enjoyed reading? share your thoughts with me if you'd like! <3


	3. Tears/Photographs

Eiji frowns down at his plate. The taste is bland, the plating is messy, the proportion is far too big. It offers him no joy on a day dedicated to it. But it’s his first meal in three—four?—days, and Nadia had insisted. Typically, Nadia avoided pushing him to the point of discomfort, and this was true for the many, many years she’s known him, but she’s being especially difficult now, and has been since Sing had arrived alone last spring. Eiji had sighed and accepted the plate then, begrudgingly. He feeds himself for the sake of feeding himself.

He returns the plate to Nadia, who smiles encouragingly at him, tells him to come over for dinner. He passes on that, telling her that he will spend the day working on the script and cleaning before summer arrives. He feels guilty for refusing her company, _she’s hurting as much as I am,_ but the shame from causing her needless worry is even stronger, weighing on his shoulders and making him stand a little crookedly as he returns to his home.

He hangs his coat and slumps in a nearby chair. It sighs brokenly at the exertion, and Eiji sighs with it. He glances up at the large clock that continues to tick, tick, tick until the end, but realizes he cannot tell the time. Squinting does not help him, the faraway symbols fuzzy and scribbled. He lowers his eyes and glances down at his hand instead.

 _Was my eyesight always this poor?_ He thought, trying to recall. He cannot. He dismisses it briefly. 

He glances around his one-room home. He doesn’t really make an effort to clean up messes anymore, _because really, what’s the point_ , but the clutter is kept to a minimum because a certain someone always comes in to tidy the graveyard that was Eiji’s solace. However, since today is a holiday and the theater is closed, that person will not come as there is no unconscious or debilitated Eiji to carry back to bed.

_Sing would always pick up the clothes I leave on the floor, set my scraps in a neat pile… Just like Ash would…_

Eiji groans. _Stop comparing them, they’re entirely different people to you._ Truthfully, he’s been inclined to think of the younger adult as similar to Ash, both in speaking habits, in mannerisms, in stubbornness… _But no matter what, he cannot replace Ash. Sing does not have to._

He lifts a hand to cover his eyes, one of the many aspects of him that is weakening, dying. _The most important part of me has already died._ How can he write scripts if he can’t even see the words he’s writing, the worlds he’s creating, the stories he’s sharing?

_When I go blind… will I still be able to picture him?_

_What if I'll never be able to... see him again?_

The thought scares him so much, makes his fingers and legs tremble, rejuvenated, that it drives him into frantic action. He practically jumps off the chair, his clumsy swiftness knocking it over in the process, and hurries to the drawer by his bedside. In one cabinet rests letters begetting empty words and promises, so he dares not think or touch it. Above it, however, there hides a folder that contains incredible valuables, so rich with feeling, with thought, with everything that Eiji had lost in that awful war.

He finds it quickly, his fingers awkwardly undoing the knot that ties it close. However, due to his lacking finesse and attention, the folder opens opposite of him, and whatever treasures from the past lay delicately inside now sprinkle to the ground like common snowflakes.

“Ah!” Eiji kneels quickly to gather them up, _they are precious and must be treated as such,_ but stops short when he picks one of them up.

It’s Ash, when his hair hadn’t reached his shoulders yet. When he always wore that jacket his brother left behind, even if it was too large for him and sagged in the most unrefined ways. When Eiji would cling to his side, _I still do, after everything,_ and exclaim unabashedly about his first camera, an idea for a script (that Ash should definitely act in despite his missing experience in the profession), and _what else, what else… What else was there… Remember!_

Eiji holds the photograph tighter, concentrates harder than before to recall innocent sunsets and soothing sunrises. When they were teens, everything was so simple. Sure, Eiji might have been hiding as an illegal immigrant so that he could stay with Ash and Shorter and everyone else longer, and Ash might have been suffering from losing his family and having to live underground with their gang due to conscription being extended to native-born children over 16 and married men... Sure, there were times that seemed hard, so dreadfully grim and frightful that Eiji deemed his dream of being a playwright useless, futile, a bird trying to reach the sun. Yet, it was so simple.

 _I remember when Ash would use his looks to get us free food_ , Eiji looks closer into the photograph, tilting his head. Black strands poke into his eyes, forcing him to blink and force them away. _Sometimes Shorter and Nadia would let us stay. Then they let us live with them. We couldn’t leave their house often, especially during the daytime. I couldn’t try the camera Ibe let me have very much outside… But that gave me plenty of chances to use it inside._

The photo is dark, as they had blocked their windows to deter invasive strangers, and with that, natural light. However, there are clear figures who are wrapped up in each other. They hold each other tightly, staring at one another, probably forgetting the camera existed. Probably forgetting that the rest of the world existed. _Which was true,_ Eiji gulps, lifting another photo and studying it. This one was similar, but there were more people. Yet the warm, lively atmosphere was still there. Even if Eiji couldn’t make out the details, like the expressions or the background, he can tell they were happier.

 _Were we?_ He shifts through the photos, and the teens grow older. They realize the weight of their rash decisions, realize the harsh punishments awaiting them, realize the inevitability of their crimes being publicized. It would ruin them. Ruin everything they had worked so hard for. Sacrificed their past lives for. Their pain and anxiety suppressed behind impromptu smiles and peace signs. 

 _Were we truly happy?_ Eiji stops on another photo. This one was quiet, relaxing, missing the obvious and sometimes forced cheerfulness of its predecessors. Perhaps it’s because this one was a solo shot. It was of Ash, this he was sure of, because the lone figure resting so peacefully on that open window overlooking the smoke-filled city looked so perfectly beautiful. Like he belonged there, the dawning sun shining against his face, the town hushing itself to match his mood. It was such a rarity that Eiji couldn’t help but want to capture the candid shot. Ash was perfect, there was no doubt about it, whether he was aware of it or not, inside and out. Too perfect for this world,  _but perfect for me, for us._

Eiji's lips wobble.  _We were happier,_ tears brim his eyes, and Eiji makes no attempt to control them. He couldn’t even if he tried. He’s no longer a stranger to grief, for he is now a frequent visitor. However, today is different. Rather than welcoming itself in quietly, it pounds loudly on the door, making itself known, obtrusively and luridly. It startles Eiji, and that, coupled with his earlier stress, forces him to cower, to shrivel into this pitiful ball to hide from what was already running towards him. Tears travel down his cheeks in a pointless race with no finish line or incentive.

 _I was happier with you._ He sees him then, swimming, drowning, in Eiji’s misery. It’s just as indistinct and blurry as the photographs in Eiji’s eyes, but at least he can still see him. Sees him take Eiji’s camera in both hands to test it out, sees him shrug his large jacket off to hand to Eiji when the evening became too cold, sees him with drinking and laughing with Shorter and Alex, enjoying their night as if it were their last, sees him quietly perched on the window, looking as alluring, as immaculate, as _alive_ as ever, sees him—

The knocks boom in his ears, more real. He hears his name. _Must you send out invitations?_ Eiji thinks. _The rain already falls hard indoors, what need is there to come invade my privacy? What do you need protection from?_

A hand touches his shoulder, and the door bursts open, overflowing and rushing. Eiji is swallowed by it all so quickly and forcefully that his back bends forward at the surging pressure that hits him, escapes him.

 _I was so much happier with you,_ his home floods with saltwater that makes him cough, choke, and want to vomit. The hand on his shoulder moves to his back, rubbing it in circles _like Ash would._

_Come back, it seems you’ve taken my happiness with you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> technically late cuz it's the 9th rn my time.............but no one's keeping track right? hh  
> anyway! hope you're enjoying? so far!! i wish i could produce better words to do this fic+universe justice, but i'm swamped with work and exams ;'((  
> wish me luck!! <3


	4. Regret

There are many things that Eiji wishes he had not said. There are a plethora of things he regrets never saying. His passion and profession as a playwright allows him to conquer this inconvenience, allowing him to say, through his plays and through his characters, the words he wishes he had said, the words he should’ve said. 

“I am afraid that I do not understand,” an actor on stage recites in a humble whisper, pondering. “You act such a way yet you speak words that imply the opposite. You are a puzzle I cannot solve, dearest. Tell me, clearly and truthfully, what weighs on your mind, shoulders, and heart.” 

His companion that stands opposite of him bats her eyelashes several times, mouth a thin line. She pretends to be distraught, considering her next line before opening her mouth. “The burden is different for each one. I would not be well imagining the strain it would put on you. On us.” 

Eiji nods to himself as she speaks. The actors are doing a stellar performance so far. The emotions are conveyed well through their actions, tone, and expressions. However, he ensures to keep his face strict, his arms crossed. Even the slightest bit of emotion from him can ruin the scene. 

The response is instant. “I care not for my own well-being!” The actor is famous for his strong, powerful voice. He never displays weakness, even in rehearsal. “All I care for is you! Yet how can I care for you if I am blind and deaf to your suffering? What use are my eyes and ears if not for focusing on you?” 

The lady bristles then, turning around angrily. “For yourself, obviously!” she argues. “Why must you remain so fixated on me? Care for yourself! I do not want an ounce of your attention if it causes you to become nothing! I am capable of handling myself. It is I my sister needs.” 

Eiji’s fingers unknowingly grasp the sleeve of his shirt. Already so crumpled from its second day of use in a row, it wrinkles easily at his aggressive touch. His eyes stay on the actors, as they should, and not once does he realize that his expression turns possessively engrossed. 

_ She cares for you,  _ Eiji’s jaw tightens with his fingers.  _ Cares for you so much, and she wants you to do the same. To love yourself and see the good in yourself. If only you knew that sooner, understood that better.   _

“But…” the male actor pauses, and their fabricated reality shifts, their glass dome shattering. Eiji blinks, confused, as the atmosphere loses its precious tension and instead becomes innocently awkward. His arms uncross and he moves from his spot, the audience member becoming the playwright and director once more, and approaches the two novices. 

Eiji gives them a short, sweet smile. “Is there an issue?” The actress looks as bewildered as he, also wondering what had caused their scene to break.  _ It had been going so well _ . 

“Ah, er…” Eyes dart from Eiji, to the floor, and back to Eiji. “Mr. Okumura, I do not really understand my character’s next lines, as well as Aylin’s response.” 

Eiji startles at this. This didn’t happen in his debut play.  _ And I worked so hard for this script…  _ Eiji’s smile trembles momentarily before he forces it to widen for the sake of his actors.  _ It has almost been a year and a half… or so. Even if I was writing constantly, I may have gotten rusty in terms of portrayal and pacing. It’s a problem that can be fixed, though.  _ “What is the matter?” 

The actor appears hesitant, but continues anyway after exhaling through his nose. “I was reading it last night as well, and it just does not make sense to me.” He turns his pamphlet around so that Eiji can view the words. His fingers move up to adjust his glasses as his eyes scroll over the words. Fortunately, he had remembered to bring them with him today.  _ Rather, it was a good thing that Sing reminded me.  _

“‘But you are my everything’,” Eiji reads aloud, his monotonous voice unfitting for the bold words but simply for the sake of reading and making sense of it. “‘Allow me this chance, allow it for us. Am I not your friend?’”

The girl beside Eiji took this as her cue. “‘You are, my closest and my dearest’,” she says, also reading without emotion, without Aylin’s resolve, purely because she is currently not her, and she is not talking to Phoebus. “‘All I want is for us to be together, but… it is so hard.’” 

_ Oh, I wrote this.  _ “‘I see, it is not I who is blind, but you’,” his voice becomes quieter as he progresses through the page, and he feels the young man’s intent gaze on them. “‘Aylin, look at me. Listen to me. I love you. Believe me.’” 

The actress masks her surprise at her next line, but Eiji can tell what bothers her. “I… ‘I love you, too’,” she glances over at Eiji. “‘I need to be with you, but my sister… My sister must understand, and she will, considerate is her heart. Ah, I am so relieved these words are finally spoken.’” 

The man turns to Eiji, raising an eyebrow. “See what I mean?” he asks, taking back his script when Eiji holds it out for him. He flips the pages backwards, returning to the very beginning. “Aylin needs to return to her ill sister’s side after receiving urgent summons. Phoebus and Aylin understand that even after Aylin leaves to tend to her sister, assuming her illness isn’t immediately fatal, she needs to stay by her side.”

The girl nods, lowering the script to her chest. “Yes, I didn’t catch it before, but now that I understand her character a tad more…” She scratches her cheek. “Isn’t what she said and decided to do a little too… er, inappropriate considering the situation?” 

Eiji jumps inwardly at those words, but masks his anxiety anyway. He can see their logic, but turns his head away anyway. “Whatever do you mean?” 

He can feel the nervous energy that oozes from the two young actors. The man spoke first. “That situation, I think, needed to be written more… tactfully.” 

Eiji waited for them to continue. The man’s co-actor speaks the rest. “I think that sharing their feelings and immediately rushing into each other’s arms isn’t quite right… especially after all that’s built up. Their confession needs better timing at a better setting. Not so soon after Aylin learns of her sister’s worsening condition and she’s already made the frantic, desperate decision to return to her old home. Saying something like this ruins the pacing, makes it seem less urgent. She should be telling Phoebus of her sister’s worsening state, not proclaim requited love. The mood… does not fit. It is not appropriate.” 

A jagged rope wraps itself around Eiji’s throat, making him feel trapped, constricted. He forces his lungs to work. “I understand, however…” His hand seeks the other, requiring another’s strength and presence to ground himself. He wishes he had that strong person with him. “If… If Phoebus never reveals his feelings before Aylin leaves, he might never get the chance to again. Who knows what could happen to Aylin… She might never return to him.” The hand that isn’t clasped forms a tight ball then, imagining that nested in his palm are the feelings he must not set free. “I cannot imagine a chance for them to meet again if she leaves him now.” His hand grips his fist tighter,  _ I need you here _ . “Phoebus could lose her, and he would have to live the rest of his days regretting never insisting to stay by her side, never letting her know how he felt.” 

The two actors exchanged glances, and Eiji feels sweat travel down his neck.  _ Was what I said so strange? Should I not have said that?  _

The girl’s hands cup her mouth, and she looks near frightful. Muffled, she tells Eiji, “Ah, poor Phoebus. And they loved each other so much… I cannot even begin to fathom the pain he must be going through.” 

The boy sighs, giving the girl beside him a soft smile before turning to Eiji. “Mr. Okumura, we are truly blessed and thankful that you have selected us as your leading actors for your comeback play. However, this script… it’s…” 

“Flawed,” Eiji finishes, smiling sadly.  _ If you could call this a smile _ . “It’s fine, and I should apologize for wasting your time with my… lacking script. I thought I had my spark back, but I fear that I admired a premature flame that had no hope of bursting. It died before it could go anywhere, unfortunately. The kindling was my own doing, and so is its death.” 

“Mr. Okumura…” The girl sighs, her voice breathy, forming an invisible outstretched hand that still hesitated. “We have high hopes for your play! The story and emotion is there, and I’m sure that we can make it perfect with some minor changes to the script’s writing.” 

Her partner is quick to agree,  _ of course he is, they are all sorry for me _ . “Yes, Mr. Okumura.” His voice is the hand at his back, patting it as one would a child that’s broken his favorite toy,  _ as if this pain will go away once it’s replaced, though I do not think I will ever forget it _ . “Fortunately, we are not cast for any projects currently, so we are free to assist if you wish. However, next month, I’m afraid my schedule will be a tad tighter, and it will be difficult for me to attend much practices outside of my free time.” 

The girl’s lips form a sorry smile. “Ah, yes, I will be helping out as a stagehand in my friend’s play in the next few weeks, and I am also helping her with costume designs, so I fear that I may not be as available.” 

_ They’re younger than I, but already have so much figured out, so much that they need to do.  _ “Thank you both, I immensely appreciate your cooperation.”  _ What am I doing anymore? Does my dream still matter? What future am I working towards without…  _

“Eiji?” Said raven-haired man in dire need of a trim turns his head then, noticing the lean, growing form of Sing. They exchange quick smiles as the Chinese man approaches him, staying on the bottom level to peer up at Eiji. “Nadia asked me to bring you some lunch. Are you not on break yet?” 

Eiji’s eyes fall on the box in Sing’s hands, briefly dreading its contents and the thought of forcing it inside of him, then discards the thought because  _ I should be grateful, not upset  _ before turning to the other young ones in the room. “Shall we call it for now? In the afternoon, we can discuss costumes and scenery as we promised.”

The two nod, and with a quick acknowledgement to Sing, travel down the stage and out of the room. Eiji begins moving towards the little steps so that he can reach Sing. He smiles up at him,  _ when had you grown so much?  _ “Thank you, and I apologize for the inconvenience.” 

“Stop apologizing every time,” Sing admonishes with a grin, presenting the box to Eiji. Eiji accepts it with slightly shaky hands. “Nadia really wants you to eat more. She says you’re beginning to make progress though, and she’s glad. She also says that she doesn’t mind always preparing food for you. Knowing you’re eating and taking care of yourself is enough for her.” Eiji returns his own smile, but once again, it is ingenuine and empty.  

_ I am older, yet they treat me as they did when I arrived in the U.S. Like a lost little rabbit.  _

 

 

 

Eiji is unable to write the script any better, because all he truly wants is for Phoebus to let Aylin know how much he needs her, despite their unfortunate circumstances. 

_ Is it not fair of me to wish them the happiness that’s been robbed from me? _

 

 

 

He knows Sing is there again, can feel his protective aura before he can see the taller man. Can hear his voice.

“Eiji,” Sing greets, and Eiji’s rhythmic breathing stutters. He’s close, but not touching him. Eiji does not open his eyes yet, but he knows that Sing is aware he’s conscious. He knows this, because Sing continues to speak.

“Eiji, I was talking with Max earlier, and he says he wants to interview you sometime this week to promote your play. We need to schedule a time to speak with the two actors as well. Perhaps we could have your pictures taken for the paper. What do you think?” Sing proposes all this so quickly that it barely registers in Eiji’s mind.  _ Interview? Pictures? Now everyone will see just how withered and broken I am… I can’t… _

Sing beats him to it. “You might not think it’s a good idea,” he starts. “However, I think it will help. This work… I know your feelings for Ash are the inspiration for it. Is that not why the story is written the way it was?”

_ Sing, that is not fair,  _ Eiji wants to scold him.  _ You already know, so why… _

“I think that talking about it will help you, if only a little,” Sing says, and his honesty is so crystal clear that Eiji does not need to search his words for any deep meaning—all he wants is to help Eiji, in any way possible. “It won’t make you feel better, but ah… perhaps it’ll help you find some closure? I’m sure the crowds would be intrigued by your creative process. Talking about what the story is to you, who the characters are, why they say the things they say and act the way the way they act… you may finally find your breath again.” Sing sounds so hopeful, so optimistic and reassuring, and Eiji knows then, from the way his own eyebrows pinch and his jaw tightens, that no amount of encouragement can save him.

“It’s not any good,” Eiji speaks up finally, startling both of them. Sing backs away, and Eiji sits up from his desk. Drool has collected on his cheek and the parchment below him is crumpled and barely legible. He cannot find the smallest reason to care. He turns to Sing, and his smile this time is tingling with this prickly feeling of despair, agony, and helplessness. “The… script, I… I cannot change it. I need to, but… I cannot.”  _ I’m not any good _ .

Sing approaches him, kneeling on one leg so that their faces are more leveled. They can look each other in the eye comfortably now. There was no reason to look away, no excuse to. That constricting, barbed rope returns, hugging Eiji’s entire body now. Sing has trapped him, and now he’s unable to separate from his soft gaze. It’s so painful that he didn’t realize his breaths have stopped until Sing speaks. “Why can’t you?”

Eiji’s breath hitches, and tears that cannot be shed are released not as silent storms, but as a howling wind.

_ Sing, you already know, so why… _

“Because the reality of what did happen is painful, Sing!” The rope does nothing to hold Eiji back. Sing even flinches.

_ Why are you…  _ “Phoebus needs to let Aylin know he loves her, he must!”  _ Why are you…  _ “Otherwise, she’ll never know… it’ll be too late once she leaves him, and God knows when she can return to his side, in his arms, alive and well…”  _ Why are you making me…  _ “Even if it is not the right time, the right place, no matter how much they fear the other’s response…”

_ Why are you making me say what that haunts me during every second I remain alive without him? _

“Eiji.” Sing eventually moves, his arms enveloping Eiji’s slight body. Within them, Eiji does not have to open his eyes or say anything if he does not want to, so he doesn’t. He finds purchase in Sing’s clothes and grips them as tightly as he could, as the rope is no longer holding onto him. He fights the urge to release the typhoon his heart has stirred by clamping his mouth shut. If he says anything more, then…

“I’m sorry, Eiji,” Sing’s voice is as light as the hand in his hair, gentle and unseen but needed. “You don’t have to tell me. I already know.”

Eiji is pulled from the chair and deeper into Sing’s warmth. He inhales shakily. His eyes are still shut tightly, and he’s utterly frightened to open them. He exhales unsteadily. If he opens his eyes, he knows that the only vision he’ll see is a world without Ash, and that will be true no matter where he looks, how hard he looks, how long he looks. His eyes must remain closed.

But, something tells him to open them. It was a voice that has whispered to him on nights when sleep was futile, when happiness was futile. A voice that only desired for his suffering, for his screams, for his scars. The voice will tell him time and again, for every breath he takes, repetitively, like some cacophony that will never cease, that he can never hide them.

He opens them, and he only hurts.

Sing holds him throughout the entire evening, never asking for words. Only for Eiji to let it all out until he can find temporary peace.

 

 

 

“Hey, Sing?” Eiji’s voice is a pathetic croak, muffled from Sing’s clothes and stifled further from his crying session. The stars have long since made their appearance just as quietly. 

“Yes?” Sing asks. 

“I never…” He stops, but he continues because he  _ must _ . “I never told Ash that I loved him.” Sing’s reply was a soothing hand on the back of his head and another at his shoulder. He finds the strength to continue when a thumb rubs circles on his skin in a familiar motion that did not belong to the Chinese man. 

“There was never an appropriate time, I did not even know myself until a month prior to his decision to leave for the… war,” he admits. “That was a poor excuse, because truthfully, I… I was scared of letting him know. I was scared that once he knew, everything would be different.”

“Eiji…” 

The man closes his eyes again. “I was a fool.” He thinks back to all the hints that were presented to both of them. Memories of cloudless stargazing, of dancing within small spaces, of fingers accidentally tangling together, of shy glances from across the room and at a breath away, of feelings that were written across their faces and sewn into their limbs but never spoken or acted on. And Eiji regrets it all. 

“You knew,” Sing said. “Ash knew.” 

Eiji’s eyes blink open, and when he withdraws to look at Sing, he’s even more bewildered. It was brief, a momentary flash of lightning striking him so deeply, but he sees him in Sing’s place. Sees him introduce himself rudely to perturb Eiji and scare him off with this condescending pose and smirk, sees him tell truths and secrets nobody else knew as they huddled together on cold nights, sees him laugh as he soothes Eiji’s fears and insecurities with some witty tale he just concocted, sees him recount fond memories of his older brother with this youthful smile that reminds Eiji that he’s not yet an adult, sees him— 

Eiji dares to blink, and when he opens his eyes again, the world where Ash no longer exists returns and surrounds him. It does not strangle or crush him as tightly as the rope did, but it stings all the same. 

“Eiji?” Sing, so kind and patient, leans closer, and a new pain finds its place within Eiji. It all overflows once again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hnnnn i came back two months later to continue suffering,,, thank u for suffering with me , w,   
> unedited once more bc i only write well when it's 12am hh;;;


	5. Blood

Ash was not a stranger to death, both as a concept and as a neighbor. Death was always knocking at his door, awaiting him impatiently. He had always ignored its knocks, yet they sometimes grew so much in both strength and volume that it rattled his door, threatening it off its hinges. Inviting death into his home was always tempting, and occasionally Ash found himself reaching to welcome it inside, but there was always something stopping him. Someone.

Eiji would be behind him, gently pulling him away and back into his arms. There, it was safe, comforting.

Ash knew all along that if he could, he would always return to Eiji’s warmth.

And here, in this new land raging with biting winds and piercing screams, his soul frigid and spent, Ash wants nothing more than to do just that.

 

 

 

It’s been nearly three years. Longer, perhaps. Sometimes, with all that he has witnessed, it is hard to recall what Eiji’s face, eyes, and smile look like. However, through his letters, he can feel his warmth. It’s the closest thing to comfort he has in this cruel place he had willingly leapt into with his men.

They are cornered in unfamiliar territory.

 

 

 

“I promised Eiji,” Ash says offhandedly. His voice is a whisper, as still as the falling snow on this chilly November night. It was too early for it to be so cold.

Sing and Shorter perk up at the familiar name. Only the three of them are awake, keeping watch. They had managed a makeshift camp—a temporary base as they collected resources and attempt communication with the other squads that they’ve separated from. If any still remained alive. Shorter gives Ash this weary smile. “What did you promise him?”

Ash presses his lips together, hesitantly allowing himself a brief moment of weakness. He did not need a mirror to know how miserable he looks. “I promised him I would return in the spring in my letter last three months ago. I haven’t—was not able to send another letter since then, and I probably won’t be able to send him any more until this is all over. He’ll be worried.”

Shorter offers him a smile. “Probably,” he says, agreeing because he knows the Japanese man well. “Hm, at the possibility of you returning… Eiji must be excited and relieved, too. That’s better than him only being concerned of your silence, no?”

Ash snorts. “I guess so.” Again, a vulnerable smile. It is because he’s thinking of Eiji again. He’s been lucky, unbelievably fortunate, to be able to exchange letters with Eiji. His responses are slow for obvious reasons, but he can tell from the hasty scrawling and poor grammar that Eiji is rushing his own letters. _Always so eager and honest_ , Ash smile softens, some unknown heat invading his thoughts and heart as he imagines Eiji fumbling with his pen and paper.

“I miss him,” Sing tells the group, and the other two nod, eyes downcast. Pangs of loneliness, guilt, and regret vibrate deeply in Ash’s chest, those very same words echoing in his mind every moment of every day.

“Did he say anything about the play he was working on?” Shorter turns to Ash, and at the chance to show off Eiji’s accomplishments, the blond mood lightens immensely.

“He told me that he’ll finally make his debut during December, next month,” Ash informs them, remembering Eiji’s optimistic letters relaying all the details—his approved script, his helpful co-director, his talented actors, and his quality props and scenes. “He’s had the idea since before we met, and it was only afterwards did he begin to actually write the play. The script was so poorly written, but… I knew what emotions he wanted to convey through words and actions, so I just gave him some advice and small pushes here and there.”

Shorter’s grin widens, and he cannot help but pat his best friend on the shoulder. “You’re proud of him, aren’t you?”

The answer is instant and obvious. “Of course I am.” Ash closes his eyes. He pictures Eiji’s hands on his face, warming his cheeks with some emotion that he’s lost since his childhood and has then been alien to him. Eiji had introduced to him a brand new view of what should have only been a linear horizon. He had taught him that beyond that line, there are sights, lands, and worlds where kindness exists, where the sun touches people’s faces, where they can both live freely and happily. Eiji had told him that further beyond that line, there was something waiting for them that they cannot yet see.

 _Hope_.

 

 

 

Their squads leave before dawn arrives. Sing covers their tracks while Alex and Bones scout ahead.

 

 

 

“We will make my plan work,” swears Ash through gritted teeth. His feet are soaked, his hands trembling, and his resolve gradually weakening. The candle sways as his body does in his exhaustion.

“We will, Ash,” Shorter’s voice his louder, as if trying to be convincing. He succeeds. Ash gives him a thankful smile. They will make it through.

 

 

 

They are closer to their goal. But that also means they are closer to danger. Bones insists that they make camp for tonight to rest for at least a few hours. Ash agrees after a little reluctance. He too requires time to eat and regain his energy.

He sits opposite of Sing, who is hungrily munching on his rations as everyone begins settling down for the evening. They risked a small fire while the sun was still waning. Shorter always provides a hearty conversation and laughter to go with their hearty meals. Today is no different, but the worsened mood is noticeable.

They’ve lost a couple of men in a brief crossfire. Less mouths to feed, obviously, but less mouths to bicker on and liven up the dour atmosphere that permeates around them.

Ash has never felt so permanently low, and this sinking feeling reminds him of Skip’s death, of Griffin’s disappearance, of his mother’s abandonment. Tears never surface, they never do, but the currents swirl roughly inside of him, sloshing in huge leaps and gathering in whirling pools until it fills to the brim and reaches his tipping point. Ash still holds it in, sipping the hot water in his hands.

Sing glances at him, then opens his mouth after a moment. “Do you think Eiji is doing okay?”

Ash gives the young man a curious stare, analyzing him. Sing eats his food slower, appears to be deeper in thought now. Ash lets out a sigh. “I can only hope he’s alright.” His hands lower the container he drinks from. “I’m sure he is.”

Sing, satisfied with the answer, chuckles with a shrug. “If you say so, then I believe it.” He pauses, then says, “It’s Eiji, after all.”

Ash’s gaze lingers on him. _He’s grown,_ he notices. _He’s not the same uppity, stubborn brat._ “You love him, don’t you?” Choking sounds erupt from Sing’s throat, and Ash allows himself a smirk.

“Wh-what?!” The teen sputters. “No, I don’t! Eiji is just Eiji, I don’t… love him.”

“It’s okay if you do, you know.” Ash takes another mouthful. “He has this ability to purify those around him, including strangers… I’ve never felt so comfortable around someone I barely met. He has this gentleness that reminds me that I’m… human. Do you feel that way around him, too?”

Sing studies Ash before nodding, his expression guilty, _even though he shouldn’t be_. “Lao kept on pushing his expectations on me, and it was so hard to keep up, but… Eiji told me that everyone had their own pace, and nobody was allowed to tell me how to live my own life. He said that nobody should be pressured to grow up. Those words… helped a lot. He helped a lot.”

Ash hums, and Sing’s contemplative frown turns regretful. “B-but that doesn’t mean I love him!” He insists defensively. “I’m aware you both want each other, and I would never dream of separating you two, I promise!”

Ash actually rolls his eyes, leaning backward. “I never said that, stop your fretting,” he told the Chinese youth, who whines at the tease. “I am glad… Eiji has one more person to care for him that I can trust.”

Sing blinks, his eyes widening slightly. They glimmer solemnly. “Ash, do not tell me you—we will all return home once we complete our mission. We will not fail!”

Ash downs the rest of the steaming drink, standing up from his seat afterwards. He begins making his way to where Cain and Shorter are, but before he takes a step, he tells Sing, “We won’t. We’ll see this through, Sing. We must. This war will be won.”  
  


 

 

Shorter had taken a bullet for Ash. Absorbing his friend’s strength and will, Ash pushes forward with gritted teeth. Shorter’s dying request replays again and again in his head.

 _“Have hope”, he said,_ Ash’s fists grasp his weapon tightly, the other hand wiping away the fresh blood off of his face. _“Eiji’s waiting for you.”_

 _Hope_.

 

 

 

“Ash, watch out!” Sing yells, trudging as fast as he can with his prevalent limp. Ash aims just in time to save himself, taking no pleasure in seeing some unknown man, enemy only in name, stagger before diving face-first into the snowy ground below him.

“Sing, we need to leave!” Ash’s voice is hoarse, barely recognizable even without the hailing snowstorm. Sing nods hurriedly, bending down to lift Ash’s arm and hitch it over his shoulders. Ash is shocked the smaller teen is able to support his weight at all, especially with his wounded leg, and so he cannot produce the necessary words of appreciation and gratitude. Sing, with some burning resolve that shields them both from the chilling onslaught, carries them both towards some shelter—whatever he can find.

 

 

 

Ash had detected the bullet, the soldier, and the scalding murderous intent faster than Sing does.

 

 

 

“Ash, Ash!” Sing cries, quivering hands pressing firmly against his bullet wound. They were forced to abandon their supplies a while back with that surprise raid and separation, and now, Sing has nothing to offer Ash but his stained cloths and determination to keep him alive. But it’s futile, and they both know it.

“Sing…” The blond lifts his hand to place it over the other’s. “You can still make it. The mission can still be successful.”

Sing shakes his head audibly, grunting as he tries so hard to stop the bleeding, to prevent Ash’s inevitable death. “We need—I need you alive! Eiji needs you alive!”

_Eiji…_

Ash, even with his dwindling senses, can tell Sing’s hands are trembling, to the point that his pushes are weakening. He grasps them with his own large hand as tightly as he could. “Protect him.”

“Wh—No, Ash, please! You cannot—I-I can’t do this alone—” Sing pleads, his chest heaving as panic bursts from his heart and out of his mouth. “You’ll live, you’re going to live, I’m not leaving you here!”

“Protect him,” Ash persists, his voice a mere breath, pouring every ounce of strength he has left into the hand that is holding Sing, now passing on his resolve, his responsibilities, his power through this lasting contact. This link, once severed, will declare the end of Ash’s reign, and Sing must be capable enough to assume his position. _I would hate to do this to you, kid,_ Ash thinks. _I know you do not want this burden, that it’s asking too much of you, but I need you to do this for me. For him. He’s the one who needs you._ “I… I trust you, Sing. You are… able to make him happy in ways… I won’t be able to. Please, he deserves a good life… and I think you can help him achieve his happiness… his dreams.”

Cold tears gather at the ends of Sing’s swollen, blackened eyes. His hands, still in Ash’s withering hold, begin quaking as hard as the Earth beneath him. His world is shattering, and all he can do is let it happen. “I… I don’t think I can,” he admits. “He will never be happy, not without you! Please, do not give up here, you promised him! Ash!”

This time, Ash accepts the tears as they fall. _What was the point in having to hold them back in my final moments?_ They fall as speedily as the blood that flees from his body, both of which he is all too familiar with but has caged for far too long. This was his time.

“I’ll still be with him… with you,” he croaks. Colors and lines are merging and fading, dimming. “I'll watch over you both. I can only imagine... the trouble you two will cause without Shorter and I around.”

“Ash, please, don’t leave me… don’t leave us,” Sing begs, his messy face becoming dirtier with snot and tears. His voice is huskier from his clogged throat that can only heave so many sobs at a time. “I can’t do this… please, I can’t… I’m not strong like you or Shorter! We need you! Stay with me! Ash! Ash!”

 _Were you always this loud, kid?_ Ash begins to feel numb, yet he is still breathing so, so hard. His heart is still beating that incessant rhythm that at one point he wanted to stop, but then…

 _Eiji…_ Eiji, who loved listening to his heart beating as he lay against his chest at night. Eiji, who cared for him when he was too weak, in spirit and body, to function. Eiji, who treated him as if he were someone worth the trouble, the time, the effort. The love.

Eiji, who he’ll never hold again.

“You don’t need… to be me, Sing,” Ash says, and he can see that Sing is struggling to hear his words. His time is running up, _I need to say everything I want to say now, or else…_ “All I can ask for… is to be you… I trust you.”

 _Or else it will be too late, and I’ll never be able to say the words I want to… need to say._ With his free hand, Ash, in an excruciatingly slow manner, pulls out a worn piece of parchment from deep within his clothes. He had kept it close to his chest, close to his heart. “I’ll entrust… Eiji to you.” He cannot even summon the strength to lift up the letter, so Sing takes it himself, pinching it between cautious fingers. “Look out for him, and look out for yourself, Sing… I know you can do this.”

Despite knowing how careful he must be with the paper, at these words Sing crumples it in a tight grasp. “I… I…”

“Please.” _It will be too late, and I won’t be able to tell Eiji._

Sing relents, shutting his eyes tightly. His face is tight, his tears are loose, and his body is shaking with a tremor so fierce that in his despairing scramble of a brain, he has trouble finding his voice to form words. “Okay.”

Ash’s smile widens, and green orbs finally shift away from Sing and towards the sky. They hadn’t been able to find a safe place to catch their breath, and Ash is partially glad for that. He’s glad that his final breath can be taken in a place where he can see the sun and the birds that chase after it.

“Ash…”

His eyes water some more, and they begin to reflect memories deemed to be so, so precious. Ash sees him in that wavering reflection. Sees him with this excited and anxious smile at the chance to hold a real gun in his hands, sees him humming and dancing to some song as he cooks them breakfast, sees him with tears in his eyes as he holds Ash tightly because he is too afraid to let go, sees him resting peacefully beside him as he is oblivious to the dangers of the world, sees him—

 

 

 

“Ash?”

 

 

 

 _It’s strange,_ Ash thinks. _It is so cold around me, yet… I feel so warm. It feels so nice. Why is that?_

Rather than going completely numb, cold… he feels this fluttery sensation flowering from his chest outwards. It tingles so gently. Like a loving caress, a teasing peck on the cheek. A petal as it descends from the heavens, dancing and twirling.

 

 

 

“Ash! No, please, please! Come back!”

 

 

 

He can see him. He can feel him. Eiji. His warmth. His soul. He’s still with him. Still by his side. He’s never left. And he never will.

_I promised forever, after all. And he did, too._

 

 

 

“Ash, don’t do this! Not now! Are you listen—can you hear me? Hey… Hey, no, you can’t… Ash! No, no, no, no… Ash, Ash. Please, not you, too…”

 

 

 

_“My soul is always with you.”_

 

 

 

“ASH!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hihi once again! thank u for suffering with me /v\ <3  
> pls let me know if you find any mistakes and whatnot! i know i'm not the best writer but i try aaa ;v; i'm always looking to improve, so critiques are always welcome!! (this chapter was especially hard to write ><)  
> also it's 12am once again, so unedited ;;  
> have a great day!!! ( ´ ∀ `)ノ～ ♡


	6. Self-Harm/Violence

Nadia has had enough of the two. For the past two years, she’s been tolerating the pain because she empathizes with the boys, but there’s only so much an emotion can do. If they need a bigger push, she will shove them both if she must.

And she did, literally, with her own two hands. Out of their building. 

“You both need to get out,” she had said, irritation coloring her usually passive expression. “Since today is a holiday, I do not want to see either of you moping around the theater, inside our building, or in the cemetery. Go out into town, go to the pier, go shopping. Just do something besides sitting still all day.”

Eiji and Sing exchange unsure and confused glances, both turning back to the older woman and opening their mouths to reason with her, but before anything else, Nadia slams the door and locks it. 

 _What a way to begin a holiday,_ Sing thinks, sighing. 

  
  


They wander around the nearby streets, taking in sights and gazing at whatever caught their eye. Eiji stares at numerous objects and landscapes, voicing how nice the composition appeared and mourns the fact he had left his old camera behind, though he did not have the same enthusiasm as he would have several years ago, when Ash was still around. 

 _He would talk so animatedly, it was hard to keep up, especially when he accidentally switches to Japanese,_ Sing thinks, rubbing his hands together as he stared at Eiji. _He would point randomly and ask if it would make for a good shot. We would always say yes._

Eiji stops suddenly. Sing pauses his walking so that he would not pass the shorter man. He raises an eyebrow. “Is something wrong, Eiji—” 

Before he can even process what happened, Eiji is running away from him. 

Panic seizes Sing’s chest and he forces his legs to chase after Eiji before he can rationalize the situation. His lungs tighten, and because of this he did not have the voice to call out for Eiji as he would want to. _Where are you going, Eiji? You cannot leave my sight or else you’ll—_

Eiji’s pace slows down as he approaches a young man. From what Sing can see, they don’t know him. There weren’t a lot of gentlemen with such vibrant yellow hair untrimmed at such a length, besides… Sing gulps, his steps halting completely. He settles on studying this strange interaction from where he is. 

“Ash—” Sing hears Eiji call, but his voice cuts off as the man he grabs the arm of turns to look at him with a mix of shock and annoyance. As if waking up from a dream, clarity returns to Eiji’s movements, and he slowly releases his tight grip on the stranger’s arm. “I-I apologize. I mistook you for someone else.” 

Sing returns to Eiji’s side as the blond man walks away with his friends. He peeks at Eiji’s expression, and sees dark eyes wide and trembling with an emotion akin to agitation or shame, or an ugly blend of the two. Sing doesn’t know what words to use to console him, but after giving Eiji ample time to calm himself and find his bearings, he wraps an around him and guides him away, resuming their aimless journey around the city. 

  
  


“I… I don’t know what came over me,” Eiji tells Sing as they order some cheap food from a street vendor. Sing looks at him as he pays and acquires said snacks, handing Eiji his share. Eiji accepts it without a reaction. “I… For a moment, I thought… Even after all this time…” 

Sing wants to look away, to avoid Eiji in his moment of raw vulnerability, knowing that it is impolite, unfair, and _wrong, so wrong, I don’t know how to comfort you. Ash would, but I don’t. I need to be better._ But he can't. 

Sing points with his free hand towards the large bridge. “Eiji.” He smiles, hoping he could acquire one in return. “How about we head over there?” 

Eiji hesitates before taking the hand Sing holds out. His fingers are thin, Sing notes, coarse. But still so pretty and capable of producing miracles on paper. Even if he doesn't know or believe it. “Okay,” the man says. 

_Yes, like this. I’ll do what I can. I’m not strong enough to be more, but this can be enough for now._

Eiji looks at him, eyes lidded from the heavy sun as it weighs lower into the sky. Still, Sing cannot quite look away. 

_I know I’m not strong enough, I know I cannot do any better than this._

Eiji is warmth. What can Sing possibly offer in return? 

_What else can I give you after I’ve given you everything I am?_

  
  


Eiji remains quiet and withdrawn the rest of the day come evening. It bothers and calms Sing at the same time. The clocks read five, but Sing thinks it’s too soon for dinner. He does plan to treat Eiji to a good meal. At least something that can sit heavy after he’s eaten so lightly in previous days— _months, years actually_ —and something he likes. He has yet to decide on a restaurant. 

A hand on his bicep startles him out of his thoughts. Overrun by instinct, fear, and raw trauma, he grasps whoever had _dared_ to touch him and yanked it up, bringing his other to grab the assailant’s other arm to twist him and _be on the offensive, always be prepared, they could strike at any corner at any time and the people you care about would be dead all over again_ —

“S-Sing!” Someone had rasped, but it was static to Sing, as all he heard was _Lao died protecting you, Shorter died defending you, Alex and Bones disappeared after you ordered them to hunt for food, Kong died because you were not fast enough, Cain died during a scout because you were not paying attention, and Ash died because you were too weak._

_You are still too weak, Sing. Sing!_

_You can’t even protect Eiji._

_Eiji?_

“Sing…” Blurriness fades into clarity, and Sing returns to the reality in which _it didn’t matter if I had been quicker, smarter, more attentive, or stronger, because they’re all dead anyway._ He blinks several times, his grasp only letting up just a bit, as if reluctant to let go. 

“Sing,” Eiji says. “Let go.” Eiji wants him to let go. Sing want to let go too, but it is still so hard. How long has it been? Hesitantly, his fingers ease and release, and the guilt stabs his gut so hard he bleeds.

“Sorry,” he tells the other man who wears this unreadable expression that sprinkles more salt onto Sing’s wound. “I-I didn’t mean to… I don’t know what happened…” 

“I-it’s okay.” _No, it’s not_. Eiji sighs, takes a step forward. Stops. Sing braces himself for the worst. “Is it okay if I touch you?” 

_No, it’s not._

“... Yes.” 

Arms wrap around Sing’s middle, loose but so secure it makes him mistake the emotion he’s feeling for comfort. He only relaxes when Eiji tiptoes and whispers to him, “It’s okay, promise. You’re okay.” 

 _No, I’m not,_ but Sing finds himself nodding. His own arms find their place around Eiji, completely enveloping him and inadvertently pulling him close. _When had he become so small?_

They embraced in silence until a passerby had rudely coughed in their direction, profanities in the spit that leaves him. Sing pays him no mind, but Eiji is the one to flinch and turn away, his arms returning to his sides. “Should we get dinner? My treat.” He suggests, shyly and quietly. 

Sing manages a grin. “Alright, but it’ll be on me.” 

Eiji starts walking, but not before sending Sing a smirk. “Sorry, I called it. Let your big brother treat you for once.” 

Rolling his eyes, Sing concedes. “Fine.” 

  
  


They eat at some hole-in-the wall pub, both only drinking a cup each. The owner was a fan of Eiji’s and said the drinks would be on him, but both men were not quite thirsty for alcohol that evening. There was, however, a discount for their meals, which Eiji voiced was better and thanked the man. They left just as they came and sat: quietly. 

Stars begin to appear, streetlamps begin to light. The wind is nearly nonexistent, lost to the city sounds of adults enjoying the last seconds of their holiday. 

Sing and Eiji, the only two miserable adults to be seen, are back on the bridge they were earlier, overlooking the various lights that are reflected on the river’s surface, wavering oh so slightly. They float like bubbles, and Sing finds himself mesmerized by the sight. He hadn’t really been out since he had returned, always by Eiji’s side caring for him and remaining indoors when he isn’t. The night is loud to him. Foreign. Yet he’s lived here for most of his life. 

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Eiji asks him. Sing turns to look at the Japanese man. He’s hunched over the bridge, shoulders slumped and arms crossed. He looks so serene, so bright, that surely he couldn’t be from this world. Everything about Eiji was warm. It made Sing feel warm. “It’s been so long since… I have been out like this. I forgot how pretty the sky and city were.” 

“Yeah,” Sing says, smiling at a man who will never notice. 

“Wish I had my camera with me.” Eiji rests his head on his own shoulder, chuckling through a short breath. “This would make for such a good shot.” 

“It would, for sure,” Sing agrees, laughing along with a man who can never be happy, not with Sing. 

“I wish… I wish Aslan was here to see this…” 

Sing cannot look away. “Me, too…” His smile is breaking. 

  
  


“But, he isn’t here anymore.” 

 

 

 

Sing is too slow to react right away. Yet, once the words register in his head, he nearly jumps over the bridge in shock. “Wh-what?” 

“He isn’t here, Sing,” Eiji’s voice is calm, void of emotion. It scares him. “He… can never be by my… by _our_ sides. Ever again. He’ll never be able to see this beautiful sight, nor will he see any of my plays like he had wanted… He’ll never see me succeed, like he promised I would.” 

Sing bites his lip. 

Eiji continues after some shaky laughter. “He had… so much faith in me. It was so strange, because… what could Ash know, right? He couldn’t predict the future, he had no way of knowing how well my script would be received, or if there would be issues because I was a foreigner and English wasn’t my first language. He didn’t know, but… the moment I looked into his eyes, and saw that smile, I knew everything would be okay. Everything would be okay as long as I had him by my side.” 

Sing regrets rejecting the beer offered to him. He needs something to drown in. He doesn’t want to hear this. _It hurts._  

“It hurts.” The tears come, and still, Sing cannot look away. Not because he’s forcing himself to look, but because even now, Eiji is the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen and needs. He’s hypnotized, and it feels wrong. “It hurts so much, Sing. Is it still supposed to hurt?” 

“Yes,” Sing blurts almost too quickly, his own voice cracking along with his resolve. “It will never stop hurting. So long as we remember Ash and honor his memory, it’ll never stop hurting.” 

Eiji finally looks at him, and finally smiles. “I guess it’s okay then.” Sing cannot smile back. This incites a curious and comforting hand from Eiji, but upon Sing’s violent flinch, he withdraws slowly. “Are you still hurting, Sing?” 

 _No, I’m not. Not as much as you are_. 

“Be… honest with me, please.” Eiji’s hand comes up to his cheek, and it takes everything in Sing to not back away, to remind himself that he’s safe and that it’s just Eiji. It’s just Eiji. 

“I’m okay,” Sing insists, but Eiji refuses to acknowledge his answer with a shake of his head. “Be honest,” he repeats, the hand never leaving. Sing revels in its warmth. 

_I’m okay._

_No, I’m not._

“I… It does hurt,” Sing admits quietly. “It hurts to this day, Eiji. I don’t know how to recover. I miss him, I miss _them_ so much. Why did it have to be me? Why not Ash?” Sing wants to stop talking. He feels too exposed, too vulnerable, and every fiber of his being is screaming at him to _stop talking_. “They all died because of me, because I wasn’t strong enough. Why did it have to be me that lived? I don’t deserve to… Why…?” 

Eiji wipes away his tears. _When did I…_ “Sing,” his other hand cups his face, and Sing feels that false comfort again. It’s scalding. “You’re the strongest person I know. You are so, so full of kindness and power, more than you know. I am glad that you lived. I am so thankful that this wretched war did not take everyone away from me. So, so thankful.”

Sing leans in when Eiji pulls him closer, foreheads touching. His whole face burns, and he knows his snot and tears are running ugly trails. He cannot speak, throat clogged because that ‘comfort’ is too much for him to handle. His stomach is squeezing and his chest is heaving. 

“We can hurt and heal together, Sing. Okay?” Eiji says, and Sing has never heard a better suggestion in his life. 

“Mhm,” is all Sing can manage, his large hands covering Eiji’s and holding them tightly, promising himself that he’ll never let go. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guys... angst week was since january... banana fish finished airing since december last year... i'm still in pain... TT TT
> 
> also i'm ashamed to admit this but i only read fly boy in the sky TODAY... ASDJAKSD i was wondering where people got info about: eiji's sick dad, eiji's nearsightedness, etc etc i'm actually Big Dum 
> 
> once again thank u for reading! this is unedited and unbetad as always huhu and!!! i hope to actually finish this soon!!! i'm also working on another bf fic cuz i really don't wanna only contribute angst ^ ^ pls look forward to it!


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